


Postcard

by kirstenwritesthings



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Based On a Troye Sivan Song, Gen, Kind of emo, Other, barely angsty but the angstiest thing ive ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15953882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirstenwritesthings/pseuds/kirstenwritesthings
Summary: Race wasn’t an idiot, but, if he could choose to do anything in the world, he would find a way to rewind it back to those early days, when being in love was easy.





	Postcard

Race wasn’t an idiot. He knew that things didn’t always work out exactly the way that he could expect them to. After his mother’s death and his father’s absence, he began to think that he was more used to disappointment than he was to hope. And, it sucked, but it was his best defence mechanism. The less he expected from love, the better it would feel when it worked out. The more he put into it, the worse it would feel when it ended.

Race was many things, but he was not an optimist. He didn’t hope for much, so that he didn’t get bruised by life’s punches. He wasn’t hopeful, not until Albert came along.

They met at a house party, through mutual friends, and, from the moment that Al walked through the door, Race knew that he was in trouble. There was something about the smile that Albert threw his way: it was perfect and subtle and real. That smile was the beginning of something.

John Green be damned, Race Higgins did not fall in love like he was falling asleep. There wasn’t anything slow or elegant about his feelings for Albert. Falling in love with Albert was like swimming in the ocean. In some moments, his feelings were calm, and he could control the yearning in his heart, and other days, waves came out of nowhere and bowled him over, leaving him utterly breathless.

Some days, he was content to cheer Albert on from the side lines as he kicked ass in their college basketball league. But, other days, he would see Albert waiting for him in bed, or lying on his shitty sofa, or wake up to Albert’s raspy morning voice, and he would be struck by the sudden intensity of his love. It was scary and overwhelming, but it was the best thing that Race had ever felt.

Their relationship was never quiet, but it lived in the little moments in their heart. It was a text from Albert, just checking in, when he knew that Race had a big exam coming up. It was a pepperoni pizza for dinner, even when Race felt like ordering Chinese. It was a good morning kiss, or sweaty hands intertwined as they walked through a crowd. It was peaceful, and it was solace.

Race wasn’t an idiot, but, if he could choose to do anything in the world, he would find a way to rewind it back to those early days, when being in love was easy.

–

Albert was waiting. It felt like that was what most of his days had come down to: waiting for the season to begin, waiting to find out where to find out where he was being drafted, and, this time, waiting in the doctor’s office, for the all-clear to get back on the court.

He didn’t usually read magazines, but the cover of  _Dance Spirit_ , as it rested on the generic waiting room coffee table was difficult to look away from. His heart was in his stomach, and, suddenly, two years’ worth of repressed feeling came flooding back to him. The cover comprised three dancers, all in poses that had French names that Albert could never pronounce correctly. At the centre was Race, as elegant as ever. His eyes stared into the camera, and he smirked in a familiar, teasing way. He always knew that Race would do great things, wherever he was, but principal dancer in New York City Ballet’s  _Swan Lake_? It was the kind of thing that Race had dreamed about, whispered in Albert’s ear when they lay awake at four am, wondering what their lives would be in the future.

The common thread, then, had been that whatever they were, they would be it, together. But, life was not kind. They were living their dreams: Albert was point guard for the Golden State Warriors, like he had always wished. It felt ungrateful to be unhappy, so most days, he ignored it. Most days, he focused on what was good.

But, today, when his heart felt as empty as that white-walled waiting room, he wondered if that was enough.

He thought back to where it had all gone wrong. It had started with that postcard. It was still in Albert’s room, tucked away in some box, but he didn’t need to see it to remember it. The words, Race’s words, were imprinted indelibly on his mind. Maybe, things would have turned out differently, if it weren’t for that postcard.

–

“ _Konnichiwa!_ ” the post card read, and Albert could almost hear Race’s bright voice in his messy chicken scratch. “ _It’s week two in Tokyo, and I miss you more than anything! I wanted this to be a happy postcard, but it’s hard to be happy when you’re far from me. I love you, Albie, even from across the globe. You’ll probably get this late, because I don’t know if I bought the right stamps in yen (foreign currency is confusing and weird) but call me when you read this. I miss your voice, and we need to talk._ ”

–

Albert didn’t meet Race at the airport when he got back from his ballet company’s tour. Race hadn’t expected him to, and that, somehow, made him feel worse. They hadn’t talked much, between the time zones and their schedules, it was difficult to find moments for one another. Life was like that, sometimes. Still, he was glad that they had the weekend together, before Albert left New York for California.

As Race walked in the rain, to the apartment that they shared in Chinatown, he thought about how far he and Albert had come. They met in college, when they were both young dreamers, and they had grown into themselves together. They were comfortable, and that meant that they were happy, didn’t it?

Race thought about the last conversation he’d had with Albert, a poor-quality Skype call from a hotel in South Korea, just before he’d left for Japan for the last leg of the tour. His face was pixelated, and his voice was crackly and hard to decipher, but Race would have been able to pick out Albert’s smile from space. He had just heard news that he was being drafted onto the Golden State Warriors at the beginning of the next season, and he’d be training with them, in Oakland, for the next few months. It was his dream to play professional basketball, and it was coming true. Race kept reminding himself that he was happy for Albert.

He was happy for his boyfriend, and proud of all the effort that he’d put in, and undeniably  terrified for their relationship. They hadn’t fighting lately, not as badly as they had been back in June, but they were distant, and not just physically. It had been easy when they were in college, for their lives to line up. Albert would come to Race’s shows and Race would watch Albert’s games and afterwards they’d get dinner, or lunch, or coffee. Over time, something had shifted.

As he waved at their doorman and made his way up to their apartment, Race wondered idly if Albert had gotten the postcard he’d sent from Japan. He thought about those four words at the end.

When he opened the door, he didn’t expect Albert to be waiting, but there he was, sitting at their kitchen table. He was crying.

Before Race could open his mouth to greet him, or ask what was wrong, Albert spoke.

“You were right, Race. We need to talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> ralbert angst is my lifeblood. if you like this, follow me on my newsies blog: https://racinghiggins.tumblr.com/


End file.
